


Nepenthe

by iridecsense



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Little Mermaid Elements, Love Triangles, Mermaid Reader, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Mythology, POC reader friendly, Post-Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Reader-Insert, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Build, Slow Burn, lore heavy, plot heavy, poc characters, reader is a siren, smut maybe??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridecsense/pseuds/iridecsense
Summary: 𝙣𝙚 ·𝙥𝙚𝙣 ·𝙩𝙝𝙚/𝘯əˈ𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘛𝘏𝘦̄/(𝘯.) 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴, 𝘕𝘦𝘸𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮...
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone & Gellert Grindelwald, Newt Scamander & Original Character(s), Newt Scamander/Reader, Newt Scamander/You, Queenie Goldstein & Gellert Grindelwald, Queenie Goldstein & Tina Goldstein & Jacob Kowalski & Newt Scamander, Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴

About two months passed since Paris. Grindelwald’s movement has spread across the wizarding world, earning him a significant amount of followers. Tension grew within the wizard community, causing the ministry a lot of grief. Grindelwald, being the infamous, conniving dark wizard he was, went underground. No one has seen or heard from him. He was nothing but a menacing whisper in the wind.

Even still, the damage he had caused festered. Darkness spread throughout Europe, slowly inching its way around the world like a disease. The loss of Leta Lestrange fell heavy upon Newt and his brother Theseus. Theseus, being Leta’s ex-fiancé, has become vengeful and apt to square his vendetta with Grindelwald. Newt, having also shared a love for the young, beautiful Lestrange, felt obligated to aid his older brother and guide him through his grief.

Newt had his own persuasions for bringing down Grindelwald. Had these circumstances not occurred, Newt would have nothing to do with the Ministry or the dispute at all. Though, fate has been less than kind. Grindelwald seduced his friend Queenie Goldstein and Credence Barebone to his side. This alone was enough to pull Newt from the sidelines.

After helping save Paris from Grindelwald’s killing curse, Newt’s travel ban was lifted, and he was once again called upon Albus Dumbledore for a separate mission. He disliked doing other people’s bidding, but for once this seemed necessary.

Newt was in his London flat feeding a hippocampus when his assistant Bunty called his name. Her quiet-like nature went unnoticed by him and she resorted to tapping him on his broad shoulder.

“Newt, there is a letter for you,” she said, handing him the envelope. Newt took it into his hands. “Thank you, Bunty.”

The envelope was blank, the only defining feature being the unmistakable Hogwarts seal. Newt broke the red wax, opening the letter. As expected, it was from Albus Dumbledore. The letter read simply:

Newt never said it, but he disliked how aloof Dumbledore was with him. Dumbledore would call upon him like a dog, and send him off on some journey that would most likely put him in danger. He wished that just once, Dumbledore could be straightforward instead of cryptic and mysterious. He also wished he wasn’t the one always chosen to aid him in his quarrels.

“Bunty,” Newt called as he tucked the letter into his pant pocket, unaware of Bunty’s presence looming behind him.

She inched closer to his side. “Yes, Newt?”

“I need you to finish up for me. I have taken care of the kelpie and there is no need to bother the zouwu,” he told her as he walked through the maze of creatures. “I can handle her when I get back.”

Newt was searching for his coat. Bunty saw it hung over the mooncalves’ fence and picked it up, shaking the dirt from it. Newt whirled around and she presented his coat to him. He thanked her and she helped him put it on.

“Should I finish the kappa enclosure while you’re gone?” She asked.

“No, that’s not necessary,” he said. “There is no need to wait for me. You can clock off when you’ve finished.” Newt gave her a closed smile and jogged up the stairs, leaving her behind.

Newt left his apartment and walked along the cobblestone road. It was night, and the streets were slick with rain. He looked around to ensure no one was watching before apparating to the London bridge.

Upon arriving, he saw the cloaked figure of Albus Dumbledore just a few feet ahead of him. Dumbledore had his back towards Newt as he looked over the bridge. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets and his collar was turned up.

“Have you ever wondered what controls you, Newt?” He asked, still facing the horizon. “The heart or the brain? Or perhaps you think it’s both.”

Newt ignored Dumbledore’s question and presented his own. “Why have you called me here?”

“I am not sure myself,” Dumbledore continued. “I can’t find the logic behind why we do the things we do. But perhaps that in itself is the answer.”

Newt walked to Dumbledore’s side and leaned against the railing. The air was heavy and thick with the weight of the situation. Evidently, Newt knew why he was being called. In fact, he was expecting it.

Dumbledore turned to Newt in a serious manner. “Grindelwald has successfully seduced half of Europe. Many of his followers have started carrying out his agenda, preaching to others while he continues to weaponize Credence.”

He motioned for Newt to follow him, leading him off the bridge. “What we cannot afford is more enemies. That is why I have summoned you.”

“What do you suppose we do?” Newt asked.

“You are well-traveled, Newt,” said Dumbledore as he rounded a corner. “So, naturally, it could only be you.”

They came upon a small tavern that stuck out from the rest of the surrounding buildings. Dumbledore held the door open for Newt before walking in after him. The tavern was practically empty besides the few drunk persons scattered by the bar and those who worked there. They took a booth in the corner of the room, away from prying ears.

Dumbledore took his seat across from Newt. “Have you talked to the Ministry?”

Newt shook his head. “Not recently. Not since the week after Paris.”

“Good.” Dumbledore waved over the bartender to bring drinks. “As I said before, Grindelwald’s influence has spread. Rumor has it that his henchmen have been killing and enslaving witches and wizards that do not have pure blood.”

“Last I heard, his influence was heavy in Germany,” Newt added.

“Yes, that is the last I’ve heard as well.”

The bartender came upon the two men and gave them mugs of butterbeer. Dumbledore thanked her and gave her two galleons, sending her off.

“The Ministry won’t listen,” said Dumbledore. “They’ve been imprisoning traitors.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “The Dementors.” He recalled hearing rumors of Dementors scouring the city in search of Grindelwald’s followers.

Dumbledore nodded. “They think by striking fear into their hearts, they will obtain loyalty. Blind to the fact that their hostilities drive more towards Grindelwald.”

Dumbledore reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a dragon skin pouch, and an envelope. He placed it on the table. “This should be enough,” he said.

Newt furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, ‘should be enough’ for what?”

“Your trip, of course.” Dumbledore took a swing of butterbeer, drinking it all and exhaling in satisfaction. “I’d suggest going to the Mediterranean first, they’ve yet to be influenced. If I’m not mistaken, there is a ship leaving tomorrow morning in Plymouth.”

Newt was having trouble processing Dumbledore’s words. Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice and spoke to him as if what he was saying were obvious. Newt watched Dumbledore rise to his feet.

Dumbledore looked down at Newt. “I want you to know, I do not take joy involving you in this, Newt. But you are the only one I can trust. You’ll know what to do.”

“But what about—”

“Good luck, Newt.”

Dumbledore gave Newt a lopsided smile before turning on his heels and walking out the door. Newt was left in the tavern alone and defeated. The corners of his lips quirked up and he took the pouch from the table.

When he returned to his flat he ran up the stairs and barged into a side room. It was a small, dreary old room, almost too small for a grown man. It didn’t help that most of the floor was littered with bottles and half-eaten plates. In the single bed pushed up against a corner laid the shell of Jacob Kowalski. His once dapper and bubbly persona had turned sour and grim. Instead of proper pajamas, he wore a dingy wife beater decorated with questionable stains and striped white and blue boxers. He laid face down in the bed, the sheets messily intertwined between his legs, and his hand loosely gripped a half-empty bottle of wine.

“Jacob wake up!” Newt turned on the light by his limp friend’s side. Jacob groaned and turned his back to block the glare from his eyes.

“Go away, I’m sulking,” he mumbled hazily.

“Yes, I can see that,” Newt snarked. “But we have to pack.”

Jacob turned to face Newt, squinting in his direction. “What?”

Newt pulled out a suitcase and started filling it with Jacob’s clothes. Jacob sat upright in the bed. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”

“We are going on a trip,” said Newt.

“A trip,” Jacob repeated.

“Yes.”

“And where is this ‘trip’ taking us, exactly?”

“Italy, I suspect.”

“What’s in Italy?”

“People we need to help,” Newt said plainly.

Jacob rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed, turning his back to the wizard. “Just leave me alone, Newt.”

Newt stopped packing and glanced at his melancholic friend. Jacob struggled greatly after the battle of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Losing Queenie took a toll on his heart. He tried desperately to get her back the first couple of weeks, hardly taking a second to sleep. He drove himself mad following pointless leads, each failure sent him deeper into a downward spiral. By the time they returned to England he was devastated.

Newt told Jacob he could stay with him, and because they both needed a friend to lean on, he stayed. Their loss effected them differently. While Newt never gave himself the time to process his grief, busying himself in any way possible to keep his mind off it, Jacob wallowed in it. He hadn’t left the house since they returned, only leaving his room to eat and relieve himself. Wine became his new lover, and the bed his concubine. The constant disappointment brought on his own self-loathing, having convinced himself he was the cause of his impotence.

It pained Newt to see him like this. He halted his actions and moved to sit next to Jacob. He placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“We could find Queenie, Jacob.”

Jacob tensed at the mention of her name. He stayed silent, unrelenting. Newt withdrew his hand and began to leave the room when he heard Jacob stir in the bed. When he turned around, Jacob was on his feet, a new fire swirling behind his black eyes.

_“When do we leave?”_

⁎ ⊹  
⁂ ˚ ✧ ⁂  
⊹ ＊

The moments just before dawn were always the most peaceful. At dawn, the sky was painted lapis, and the air was brisk. The docks were no different. The air was cool and smelled of seawater. A light fog blanketed the boats and piers, providing camouflage for the gulls hunting an unsuspecting fishermen’s catch. Newt ambled down the pier with his case in hand. Jacob less-than gracefully stumbled behind him, nauseated by the portkey they just ventured through. 

“Oh, God, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jacob groaned weakly.

His wailing went neglected by Newt who was far too busy unscrambling the thoughts in his mind. Dumbledore had told him that a ship to the Mediterranean was leaving in Plymouth this morning, and yet the docks were half empty, the only implements filling them being sailboats and fishing vessels. Upon arrival, he’d asked the first sailor they’d come across when the ship would come to port. The sailor brazenly voiced his annoyance with Newt and claimed that no such ship comes to dock there. Newt clenched his cheek. His own irritation created a deep line in the center of his forehead between his eyebrows. He shoved his hand into his pocket when he felt it brush against a piece of parchment. His mind flew back to last night’s encounter and the envelope Dumbledore had handed him. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and examined its front. The name ‘Uluras’ was written in Dumbledore’s hand. He didn’t recall seeing that earlier.

He whirled around and caught the arm of another passing fisherman. He asked about four strangers if they knew anyone by the name Uluras, all of whom denied ever hearing such a name. A woman who had just disappointed Newt with her answer left his presence to board a boat when a young man came up behind him. Jacob, having been aware of his presence, nudged Newt’s arm to gain his attention.

“Why are you looking for Uluras?”

A boy no older than seventeen stood in front of them holding a full box of cod. His dark brown skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and seawater. He was tall and skinny, his droopy clothes were muted and clearly worn with age.

“Do you know him?” Asked Newt.

The boy’s eyes scanned the two men, using his intuition to determine whether they were a threat.

“Yeah, I know him,” he answered, finally. “What do you need him for?”

“I don’t know. I have this letter for him.” Newt handed the boy the letter. He placed the box on the ground and read the front before flipping it to the back. His eyes were drawn to the red seal that held the letter together. His once stone-set face washed over with recognition. He returned the envelope to Newt, bending down to pick up the box of fish.

He gestured towards the mainland with his head. “Follow me.”

Newt and Jacob shared a look before trailing behind him. They followed him up a trail through a rural plane. They trekked wordlessly for about a mile when they came to an isolated beach. Resting on a cliff overseeing the sea was an odd-looking shack. From where they stood at the base of the precipice it was terribly worn. It looked almost as if one strong gust of wind could send it hurtling into the sea. Taking a look back at the two men lagging behind, the boy adjusted the heavy cargo in his hands and began hiking up the cliff towards the shack. Jacob struggled to walk properly on the inclining ground, still recovering from his protkey-sickness. Newt took long strides, trailing the boy posthaste. Jacob called after Newt breathlessly as he stumbled over the rough terrain of the hill until he finally managed to grasp the back of his coat.

“Newt, buddy,” he huffed. “You know I like spending time with you, right?”

Newt slowed his pace to walk beside him, unsure of where the sudden sentiment came from. “Yes?”

“Good, good. Well, as nice as this boys trip is, don’t you think it’d be faster to do… whatever magic transportation thing you have to get to Italy? This seems shady, even for you.”

“I wish we could, Jacob. But ever since Paris, the Ministry has been adamant in restricting international travel; only aurors are allowed to travel now. They can’t know what we’re doing. We’ll have to travel like muggles to avoid them.”

“Right,” Jacob hummed. “Muggles.”

Newt smirked. “We could always use another portkey, if you’d like.”

Jacob’s face screwed up at the thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

Newt smiled to himself and continued up the hill to the shack. It was even more ghastly looking up close. The structure was crooked and with each gust of wind it appeared to sway. The wood was black with rot and mildew. Spots of green mold and moss crept up the sides and covered the roof shingles. The wind was strong at the crest of the cliff. It howled in their ears like a wailing spirit and caused the wind chimes hanging under the porch to play a tumultuous percussion. Shrieking gulls circled the shack, and swooped low to the ground upon their arrival, hoping to snag a fish from the defenseless boy’s hands. He leads them up the decaying stairs and to the door. Sounds of metal clinking together and floorboards creaking under shuffling feet could be heard from inside. With a kick of his foot, the boy pushed the door open and walked inside.

Inside was surprisingly well kept in comparison to the exterior. Though the structure was still deteriorating, it was more appealing with bright turquoise paint covering obscene blemishes and contrasting the white-painted beams on the ceiling. The various nicknacks and trinkets that lined the walls helped distract from the shabby furniture and moth-eaten curtains that covered grimy windows. It was a reasonably sized abode. From where they stood in the center of the shack they saw a kitchen, a door suspected to lead to a bathroom, and another door that was left ajar, revealing the bedroom behind it. To the left was a set of creaky stairs that disappeared to the second floor.

The boy told Newt and Jacob to follow him into the kitchen where a side room was connected. Across the room was an older man hunched over a blue wooden workbench. Above him was a wall lined with fishing gear ranging from hooks to harpoons. He worked busily on a metal contraption, screwing nails into overlapping metal sheets.

“Baaba,” the boy called.

The man didn’t turn around, entirely focused on the work in front of him.  
“Nuh badda mi, Niris. You know I am workin’.”

The boy sighed and placed the fish on the ground before walking over to his father. “Baaba, there’s some people here to see you.”

The man lifted his head and turned back to face Newt and Jacob standing by the archway. He had a strong face; angular, and relatively free of wrinkles. The only indication of his age was the silver streaks that colored his black locs and scraggly beard. It was no doubt this man was the boy’s father, he took after him quite well. The man gently pats the young boy’s arm and pushed him back towards the kitchen. The boy went to pick up the box of fish and reluctantly left the three men alone. 

Newt took a step forward. “Are you Uluras?” He asked.

“Aye, that’d be me,” said the man. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Newt Scamander and this is my friend Jacob Kowalski. He’s a muggle. I have a letter for you.” Newt fished the envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. “It’s from Albus Dumbledore.”

Both of Uluras’s eyebrows jumped. “Albus Dumbledore sent you this?”

Newt nodded. Uluras eyed the two suspiciously before opening the envelope. Newt shifted anxiously while he read. His eyes scanned the paper, his expression softening with each line. When he reached the end, he sucked his teeth and threw the envelope onto the work table. 

“This man come to me asking for something like this?” He exasperated. “I tell him to let me know if there be anything he needs done, and he send me a war!”

Uluras mumbled to himself as he crossed the floor, walking to a bookcase filled with anything but books. He ran his finger across one of the shelves when he came across a figurine of a pirate ship. He pushed the ship back and turned it about ninety degrees. There was an audible click and a low rumbling coming from underfoot. The bookcase split into two and pulled apart to reveal a tunnel carved out of stone leading downwards. It was hard to tell how long it stretched, but occasional drops of water that fell from the ceiling echoed throughout the passage, and flickers of burning sconces lit the way.

Once the rumbling stopped, and the bookcase seemed to set in its open position, Uluras grabbed a pile of rope lying in a corner and slung it over his shoulder, and descended down the tunnel.

“Come this-a-way, foofool!” His voice bounced off the rock walls.

Newt and Jacob peered into the dim hole, their expressions displaying their contrasting emotions.

“Seem’s like a fun guy,” Jacob snarked.

Newt looked at Jacob with an amused smile, before gripping his suitcase and following after Uluras.

Jacob threw his hands up in exasperation, begrudgingly walking inside.  
“So, this is what we’re doing now?” He mumbled, gruffly. “Following angry old men into creepy tunnels? Where did this tunnel even come from? Is nobody going to ask that? We’re on a cliff!”

Jacob’s remarks went ignored by the others as they descended down the stone passage. It was a downhill walk. Three pairs of footsteps echoed through the cavern as they walked in silence. It was cold, and the scent of seawater grew the deeper they went.

“Where exactly is he taking us?” Jacob whispered. Newt was going to answer that he wasn’t sure where they were heading, but Uluras spoke first, surprising them both.

“You need a ship, do you not?” He said.

“Yes, we do,” Newt affirmed.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Uluras said, effectively silencing all doubts.

As they walked through the tunnel, and the smell of seawater grew stronger, a blueish light slowly engulfed them. Light from an unseen water source reflected against the walls and ceiling of the cavern, casting rippling white beams all over. When they reached what seemed to be an irrefutable dead-end, Uluras, as though he had done it a thousand times before, pressed his hands flat on the rocky wall that blocked their path and whispered a chant in a language neither Newt nor Jacob had heard before. The rock made a terrible crumbling sound and a large crack in the center of the wall formed, splitting the stone into two halves. The earth beneath them began to tremble as the wall slowly parted like sliding doors.

Uluras stopped chanting and stepped back as the wall broke off to reveal what it was meant to conceal. What a glorious sight it was, the view beyond the wall. From the grand ceiling were stalactites that protruded threateningly. The air was thick and moist, a refreshing salty mist dampened their skin. It was a glorious cavern where a vibrant blue pool of water collected at its center and stretched farther into a canal that lead out to sea. It wasn’t the cave itself that brought awe to Newt and Jacob’s features, but the grand ship that lay anchored in its wake.

A mighty sailboat, with hefty white sails secured to three proud masts gently, swayed in the water. Despite being dwarfed in comparison to many of the steamboats procured in the 20th century, the Georgian relic was still quite the sight to see. It’s chipping wood had once been painted a radiant royal blue and trimmed with glistening gold, yet both became dulled over time. Detailed heavenly carvings lined the sides and the stern, but they were no match for the wooden angel carved at the bow. A beautiful feminine angel with a length of black coiled hair and mahogany skin stretched its fading white wings in a protective manner in front of the boat.

“A pirate ship,” Jacob gaped. “It’s a pirate ship!”

Uluras scoffed and shook his head, mumbling something under his breath in a foreign language. “This ain’t no pirate ship, boy,” he said. “That there be the fastest ship on earth, _Zanj Lanmè_.”

“ _The Sea Angel_ ,” Newt translates, his eyes still taking in the ambiance of it all.

The smallest of smirks managed to tug the corner of Uluras’s lips. “What you know about Creole, white boy?”

Newt’s cheeks spotted red. “I did some traveling around the Caribbean a while ago. I spent some time in a village in Haiti and helped them catch a Loogaroo that had been terrorizing their people.”

Uluras pursed his lips and nodded in understanding. “Nasty things, them Loogaroo are. Even the _bokor_ have trouble ridding them,” he mused. “How a skinny bradda like you was able to subdue one?”

“I was just lucky, I suppose,” said Newt.

Uluras hummed, not completely satisfied with Newt’s answer, but enough to let it go. He turned his attention back to Jacob, who was still processing everything.

“Well, as I was sayin’,” he tells him, “she ain’t no pirate ship. _Zanj Lanmè_ be a ship of liberty. She was once used as a slaver ship and crossed the ocean between West Africa and the West Indies, that be until a captured slave by the name of Asha discovered that she was a _sòsyè_.”

“She was a witch?” asked Newt.

“Yes, and a powerful one, too. Without realizing it, she called on a great storm. The traders were left to fight against the wind and sea on deck, while the slaves stayed below. Asha’s storm was too great for any _pouvwafèb_ to survive. They all were taken by the sea and when the storm was over, the slaves realized what had happened. They were freed. Asha used her newfound power to break their shackles, and enchanted the ship to glide through water with ease and withstand any storm to take them to the mainland. _Zanj Lanmè_ be the ship of my ancestors.”

“Wow,” was all Jacob could muster to say amidst his amazement.

“That’s incredible,” Newt added.

“Yes, she is.” Uluras smiled proudly and walked towards the ship. Newt and Jacob followed him to the edge of the pool. With a slow wave of his hand, a stream of water rose from the pool, splishing and splashing wildly as it began to form a sort of bridge between them and the boat. Just as fast as it had appeared, it crystalized in front of them, stabilizing it enough to support their weight. Without a smidgen of hesitation, Uluras stepped on the bridge and walked up to the ship.

“ _Zanj Lanmè_ will take you wherever you need to be. You should be thanking her, you are the first white men to board her in a century,” Uluras yelled back to them.

Newt stopped on the bridge and turned to the angel at the bow. He lowered his head in a respectful manner as a small thank you and continued up the ramp.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jacob quickly bowed to the angel as he passed.

Just as Jacob stepped on deck, another low rumbling vibrated the grotto. The three men whipped their heads to the tunnel entrance and saw the wall parting again. With a large sack in tow, Niris emerged from the passage and rushed to the ship, much to Uluras’s surprise. 

“Niris, what are you doing here?” He questioned.

“I am coming with you, father,” said Niris as he made his way up the bridge.

“No, you are staying here!”

“And do what? Sit and wait for you to come home? Besides, you need my help, Baaba. You can’t man _Zanj Lanmè_ on your own.”

Uluras sighed, mumbling something in Creole before placing his hands on his hips. “You’re just like your Mudda: thick-headed,” he demurred, though he increasingly became convinced. “Hurry up and gadda supplies below deck,” he finally conceded.

Niris smiled widely with his teeth, rushed on deck, and thanked his father with a big hug before disappearing below.

“Mr. Kowalski.” Uluras turned to face the shorter man.

“Aye, Captain?”

“Would you mind helping my boy while I talk to your friend here?”

Jacob looked at Newt beside him, who gave him a nod to go on without him. “No, not at all,” said Jacob. “I’ll get right on that.”

Jacob lackadaisically headed in the same direction Niris had since disappeared to. Uluras walked in the opposite direction, towards what Newt recognized as the captain’s cabin. He opened the painted red door and held it for Newt to walk in after him.

The cabin was impressive, to say the least, a real French antique of the late seventeen hundreds. It was as long as it was wide, made up of dark wood in which the walls were paneled and decorated with miscellaneous objects such as maps and paintings. A few bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick unknown books and some geographical tools. The farthest wall was covered edge to edge with five long, glass arched windows, leaking streams of light into the otherwise dim cabin. To the left was a rather posh canopy bed a few feet from a large cluttered desk that was bolted to the center of the floor.

Uluras let the door close and walked towards the desk. As he passed, the lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the candles sitting on the desk lit to illuminate the room around them, creating a warm glow of light. 

“Dumbledore sent you to me with the hopes I will take you to Italy,” he spoke. “Normally I wouldn’t be bodda’d to take anyone anywhere in this here ship, but it appears I don’t have a choice.” Uluras crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk as he inspected Newt. “I get the feeling you are an honorable man, Mr. Scamander. Odda'wise, you wouldn’t be chasing demons across the world. Demons such as Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Dumbledore told you,” Newt deduced.

“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t need him to tell me a war is brewing. Everyone knows about Grindelwald and his blind followers. And everyone knows _you_. You managed to fight against him twice, most recently in France. No doubt you are planning to face him again.” Uluras let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know if you are brave, stupid, or both. Maybe I am stupid for agreeing to help. Nothing good comes to those looking for trouble.”

“Sometimes, it feels more like trouble is looking for me,” said Newt.

“The best people are tasked with fixing the worst of the world. Trouble chooses you because you are destined for greatness. It’s best to remember that.”

Oddly enough, Uluras’s words gave Newt the encouragement he needed. While he was always one for an adventure, the events that transpired the last few months left him feeling defeated. The loss of Leta filled him with a great deal of grief, one that numbed him almost completely. When Dumbledore called him back in arms, there was a flicker of hope that punctured his heart. He could avenge her, and save Credence and Queenie. He could stop Grindelwald once and for all. These were the thoughts that went through his head. But once his high died down, and he realized just how serious a mission he was embarking on. He quickly became apprehensive. What if he was in way over his head? What if he failed? What could he possibly do to stop a psychotic dark wizard from waging war on muggles? All of those anxieties seemed to muffle with Uluras’s reassurance.

Newt was brought from his inner monologue when Uluras placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He must have sensed Newt’s doubts and concerns. “I will take you to Italy,” he promised. “Don’t worry, Mr. Scamander. You can trust me and my son to get you where you got to go.”

Newt smiled awkwardly and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Uluras slid his hand off Newt’s shoulder and gestured to the door. “Why don’t you go find your friend and my son. He should be able to show you to your quarters while I prepare us to sail.”

Newt nodded and headed out the door, leaving Uluras behind in the cabin to find Jacob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 𝘉𝘢𝘢·𝘣𝘢  
> 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 “𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘢”.  
> (𝘯.) 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
> 
> 𝘍𝘰𝘰·𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭  
> (𝘯.) 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥, 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.
> 
> 𝘡𝘢𝘯𝘫  
> (𝘯.) 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭.
> 
> 𝘓𝘢𝘯·𝘮𝘦̀  
> (𝘯.) 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢.
> 
> 𝘓𝘰𝘰·𝘨𝘢·𝘳𝘰𝘰  
> (𝘯.) 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥-𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘭𝘬𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦.
> 
> 𝘉𝘰·𝘬𝘰𝘳  
> (𝘯.) 𝘢 𝘝𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦.
> 
> 𝘚𝘰̀𝘴·𝘺𝘦̀  
> (𝘯.) 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩.
> 
> 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘷·𝘸𝘢·𝘧𝘦̀𝘣  
> (𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 )  
> (𝘯.) 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯


	2. Chapter 2

The floor boards wheezed and sank under Newt’s weight as he carefully stepped down the stairs and into the hatch. The hull of the ship was dark and cluttered with crates and other various items. He could hear the hushed voices of Jacob and Niris, and followed the sound farther back into the ship. He wove himself through the maze of boxes until he came upon a door left ajar, a flickering orange glow emitting from the opening. He pushed the door open to find Jacob helping Niris hang a large scrap of jute to fashion a hammock.

“Mr. Scamander!” Niris smiled upon seeing him. Newt gave him a small nod as a greeting.

Jacob turned around to face Newt. “Niris was just telling me about that fancy wizard’s school you and Queenie was talking about. Hogwarts, I think?”

“You attend Hogwarts?” Newt asked Niris.

“This coming year will be my last,” said Niris as he tightened a knot around a beam.

“What’s your house?”

“Gryffindor,” he says proudly. “What was yours?”

“Hufflepuff,” Newt simpers.

“My girl’s a Hufflepuff,” Niris noted. “She’s great! She makes the best pumpkin patsies.” 

Newt nervously shifted to Jacob. He thought the mention of a Niris’s girlfriend would bring up memories of Queenie and sour his mood. But Jacob’s smile barely faltered.

“Your girl cooks?” Jacob asks. “My girl likes to cook too.”

“No way!” Jacob and Niris continued to talk about their common interest while Newt went to make his place in the room’s corner. He was fashioning himself a makeshift bed when Niris called for his attention again.

“What about you, Mr. Scamander? Do you have someone special as well?”

Newt blushed. Only one person came to mind. Newt admits that he had grown very fond of the older Goldstein sister. She was beautiful. Not like Queenie in the sense that she was very obviously an attractive woman, but in a simpler sense. It was the little things Newt found so attractive about Tina Goldstein. He liked her short brown hair. He liked that she was tall, and that she wore heels. He liked her swan-like neck and her smile. He also liked the line that formed in the middle of her forehead when she was scolding him. Most importantly, he liked her eyes. She had big brown eyes, like a salamander’s.

He’d told her that the last time they’d seen each other. It seemed so long ago now. She hadn’t talked to him since. He didn’t blame her, of course. She’d lost a sister. And there is no doubt the MACUSA have her working extensively to fight against Grindelwald, so he understood why she had returned none of his letters. Still, he couldn’t help the pang in his heart whenever he thought of her.

“No,” Newt finally answered, ignoring Jacob’s stare.

It was relatively quiet after that. Any other conversation was engaged between Niris and Jacob. When they each formed their own makeshift sleeping spaces, they returned to the deck. Uluras was there, hauling a crate of bread. Floating behind him were several other crates of food.

“Come an’ help me put these downstairs,” he called to nobody in particular.

Niris rushed to his father’s side and took the crate of bread in his hands. He made his way back down the stairs, the other crates of food following him. Jacob dodged a floating crate of fish, scrunching his nose when the smell hit his nostrils.

They followed Uluras to the center of the ship. He lifted his arms in the air and flicked his hand downwards. The white sails unfurled on their own and tightened perfectly. The sudden action caused a strong gust of wind to blow down on them. He then brought his hands down to his hips and turned them in circular clockwise motions. 

Jacob and Newt watched closely as he did this. His eyes were focused, and it seemed like the very simple action was taking a lot of strength.

“What’s he doing?” Jacob whispered.

“Magic,” said Newt.

“Doesn’t he need a wand to do that?”

“No, actually. While most wizards use wands, there is such a thing as wandless magic. Though, it is very hard to master, wandless magic is common in certain areas such as Africa,” Newt explains. “In fact, the Native Americans also perfected wandless magic and didn’t use wands until the colonization era.”

“Can you do that?” Jacob pointed to Uluras.

“I tried to learn awhile ago during my trip to Sudan, but I never had the talent for it.”

The ship trembled beneath their feet. Moving in unison with Uluras’s clockwise gestures, the ship rocked and swayed, gradually turning in the turquoise pool. It rotated ninety degrees until the bow faced the gaping cavern tunnel that led out to sea. Uluras raised his hands over his head and a howling gust of wind swept the sails. With a powerful jolt, the ship lurched forward, sailing into the underpass.

Niris had returned from the hold and climbed up to the crow’s nest, where he stood proudly with the wind swirling in his hair. Newt followed Uluras to the helm. Jacob stayed on deck, peering his head over the railing into the water.

“How long will it take to get to Italy,” Newt asked.

“Not as long as you would think,” said Uluras. “Zanj Lanmé can take you across the world two times over on Christmas Day an’ have you back where you started on New Year’s eve.”

It wasn’t clear whether it was an exaggeration or fact, but Newt would soon find out. The ship cruised through the dark overarching passage. In the distance, a speck of light continued to grow as they ventured on. The closer they got to the speck of light, Newt could hear the distinct sound of rushing water.

Ahead, the overhang of a rushing waterfall separated them from the open sea. Jacob, still leaning over the ship’s edge, caught sight of the pouring torrent drawing near and backed from the railing. 

“Uh, Newt?” His voice tremors.

“Baaba, let me do it!” Niris looked from the crow’s nest down to the three men.

Uluras craned his neck up to his son. “Aye!”

From where they stood on deck, they could just make out Niris pulling a ten-inch wand from his jacket pocket. The fall came closer, the stream of water that carried them closer to the edge. Jacob inched to Newt’s side and braced himself with a stray hanging rope.

“You ought ta do the same, Mr. Scamander,” suggested Uluras, as he himself gripped two of the pegs sticking up from the ship’s wheel.

Newt heeded his warning, grabbing a hold of the same rope Jacob clasped tightly. Golden light cast over them as they approached the opening at unrelenting speed. The gaping exit framed the rising sun and sky made it clear just how far the waterfall plunged.

“What’s he gonna do?” Jacob pondered, his eyes anxiously jumping between Niris and the overhang.

They all watched as the front of the ship tipped dangerously. Gravity pulled the wooden mass downward. The stream that once carried them disappeared from under the ship and fell into the sea. It was a steep drop, having them dive eight hundred feet towards the ground. Jacob screamed as the ship plummeted towards the ocean. Wind whipped around the vessel, lashing at the sails and howling in their ears. Jacob’s and Newt’s feet slid from under them. Both of their hands flew to the steady rope to keep themselves from falling.

Beside them, Uluras was steady, his feet planted on the wood floor and hands locked around the wheel’s pegs. Atop the crow’s nest, Niris wrapped his arm around the protruding pole. He raised his wand and swung his arm upwards in a U-shape motion. Water from the waterfall swept under the ship’s hull and around the sides. The water’s force pushed the ship forward and straightened it back into its horizontal position just before they collided with the sea.

They splashed into the ocean, water spraying onto the ship, dousing them in seawater. The ship swayed and rocked until it finally settled to its resting state. The fall had displaced Jacob, who lost his grip and fell to the floor, now soaking wet. Newt stayed gripping tight to the rope, blinking the stinging water from his eyes. He whipped his neck back to see that they had fallen from a hole inside the cliff the crooked shack rested on.

A hearty laugh came from beside him, where Uluras stood with a wide grin on his face. Niris hastily claimed down the mast, jumping on deck.

“Is everyone alright?” He asked.

Newt nodded. He turned to his friend, to find that he was no longer by his side. The poor man had half his body hanging over the ship’s railing, heaving his breakfast into the water.

Newt smirked. Perhaps Jacob had seasickness too.

⁎ ⊹

⁂ ˚ ✧ ⁂

⊹ ＊

Uluras was a genuinely kind person, interesting too. He may have came off as stand-offish, but in many ways he reminded Newt of Dumbledore. They shared the same cryptic humor and wise aura.

“How do you know Dumbledore?” Newt asked while he was helping Uluras rig the sails. The early November chill was nothing compared to the constant spray of cold seawater that dampened their skin and clothes and the steady wind that glided them across the sea.

Uluras hoisted a small triangular sail up a short mast. “I met him twenty years ago in Paris,” he said. “Him and his mentor, Nicolas Flamel. I had recently immigrated to France from Haiti with my wife. Shortly after our arrival, my wife had caught a nasty illness. I was sure she’d die.”

Uluras motioned for Newt to help him bound the rope around a peg. Newt rushed to his side, grasping the rope to aide him.

“I was seeking healers all over Paris,” Uluras heaved as they pulled. “But none of them knew how to help mon ange. I had almost given up hope, when I came across skinny Albus Dumbledore. He led me to Flamel, who could procure a potion to save my wife. I was able to spend fifteen more years with her because of their kindness. Since then, Albus has remained one of my most dearest friends.”

Apparently, Dumbledore and Uluras were so close that he was Niris’s godfather. Niris differed greatly from his father, it became increasingly obvious. While Uluras was more mild-tempered and quiet, Niris was everything a seventeen-year-old should be: wild and full of life. He was the main entertainer on the boring ship, telling silly stories and cracking jokes. He and Jacob got a long well, both sharing a similar taste in hobbies.

The day was long and uneventful. The sea was calm, and the skies were clear. Now it was dusk, and the sky was a speckled with pinks, reds, purples, and oranges. Jacob and Niris were below in the galley, preparing food for everyone. The two had a shared bond over food, and Niris promised to teach Jacob how to make fish patties.

Uluras kept busy in his cabin navigating, Newt suspected. Newt himself was left alone. He didn’t mind it. He wasn’t much of a talker to begin with. Besides, it gave him plenty of time to think. Newt leaned against the railing of the ship, his back pressed against the wood with legs crossed. Dumbledore is sending him to Italy, but for what he did not know. Many witches and wizards across Europe have either been recruited by The Alliance or have been prosecuted by the Ministry. Those haven’t were in hiding, making themselves scarce from both Grindelwald’s acolytes and the dementors. Most of wizarding world was in a state of purgatory in which wizards took neither side. The Ministry’s relentless hunt for traitors didn’t gain the support it might have hoped. Newt supposed Dumbledore hoped that he could somehow raise moral to those who have lost the will to fight.

But how the hell could _he_ do that?

“It could only be you.” Dumbledore had told him. Why did it have to be him? He didn’t even know what to do. Newt rubbed the sides of his temple with one hand. He was doing this task completely blind and, like the ninny he is, he’d agreed to do it. And to add to his predicament, he’d promised Jacob he would help him find Queenie. He cursed to himself for making a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

Jacob appeared from the hatch wearing a messy white apron. When he saw his friend leaning against the ship railing in a sulking fashion, he emerged from the hole and walked to his side.

“Is everything okay, buddy?” He asked. 

Newt lifted his head from his hand. “Yes, just a bit tired, is all.”

“You sure? You look like you’re deep in thought about something.”

“Promise.” Newt smiled softly to reassure him. “How’s your stomach?” He asked, changing the subject. 

Jacob straightened his back, placing a hand on his round belly. “Oh, it’s fine now,” he said, chuckling. “Thank you, by the way, for the... uh... the—”

“Mugwort,” Newt reminded him. 

“Yeah, the mugwort. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

A small silence befell them. Jacob looked at Newt closely, who had his eyes set on the horizon. He cleared his throat and hesitantly “Listen, Newt, about Tina—”

“Tina?” Newt turned his head to face Jacob. 

“Yeah.” Jacob sighed through his nose and shifted in place, turning to face the setting sun. “I ain’t been a very good friend to you, Newt. I was so stuck in my own head I didn’t even think to ask how you felt after everything. About things between you and Tina... ”

“I feel fine.” Newt said quickly, though Jacob wasn’t fully convinced.

“Yeah, alright,” he relented, deciding not to probe him any further. “Well, if you ever want to talk bout—well, about anything—just let me know, okay?”

“I’ll do that, Jacob.”

Jacob shook Newt’s shoulder, shaking it softly before moving towards the hatch. “Food’s ready, if you’re hungry,” he informed him. “I gotta hand it to the kid, he’s one mean cook. The fish patties are really good. Of course, they’re better because I taught him the best way to make the dough.”

He descended the steps, leaving Newt above deck. Newt stayed watching the sunset for a moment longer. The sky faded to a dull blue as the sun gave the illusion of being dipped into the ocean. When the increasing cold of the night became too much for his thin shirt and trousers, he too left the deck and descended the hatch to join Niris and Jacob for a helping of fish patties.

⁎ ⊹

⁂ ˚ ✧ ⁂

⊹ ＊

At night, the ship rocked restlessly. Jacob had no trouble sleeping in his hammock. He snored peacefully, swinging between two poles with one of his arms dangling to the floor. Niris was sound asleep as well in his own setup. It was Newt who was restless. He had a terrible case of insomnia. It wasn’t the ships stirring or Jacob’s snoring that kept him up, but his own mind. 

Newt, having failed to drift off to sleep for the fourth time that night, rolled from the makeshift bed he made himself and opened his suitcase. He quietly stepped inside, climbing down the latter and closing the case behind him. The room Newt fashioned himself in the case was a simple shed. Inside was a small cot pushed against a wall, a workbench wedged in the corner between a door and a window, a lounge chair, two bookshelves, and various plants and trinkets that hung from the ceiling and walls. 

Outside of the shed were remnants of enclosures he mad for the beasts he rehabilitated. All the creatures that once filled them now resided in the basement of his apartment under his assistant’s care. Well, _almost_ all of them.

Newt crouched down t swiftly snatch a baby niffler from the ground. “You’re a relentless lot, aren’t you?” The pesky creature was clinging a silver spoon two times its size. 

Newt caught its other pesky siblings that infested his shed, pick-pocketing shiny objects from his desk and drawers. With all of the funny creatures in hand, he opened the door to the rest of the case. He walked down a dirt path to a small section that was made up of grass and a singular dirt wall. Carved in the dirt wall was a burrow glittering with silky fabrics, gold, jewels and other shiny things that had been stuffed inside. Sleeping soundly in the burrowed hole was the father of the troublesome kits. 

“Some babysitter you are,” he mumbled begrudgingly. 

Surrounding the giant hole reserved for his adult niffler, were four smaller holes reserved for each of the babies. One by one he placed each of the kits in their respectful burrows, keeping them tame by gifting them each one Knut to suckle in their sleep. 

Newt left the nifflers and returned to his shed. Waiting for him on his cot, was none other than his loyal bowtruckle, Pickett. The twiggy creature crawled up to the edge of the bed as Newt neared, trilling excitedly. 

“You were meant to stay with Bunty and the others, Pick,” Newt scolded half-heartedly as he lowered his hand for the little thing to climb onto.

Pickett squeaked his case, somehow explaining to the wizard why him being there was perfectly reasonable. Newt smiled and took a seat on the bed. 

“For some reason, I’m actually glad you’re here, Pick,” he confesses.

This seemed to please the leafy bug, and he trilled lowly, crawling up Newt’s arm to nuzzle his cheek. Suddenly, feeling very tired, Newt laid on his cot facing the ceiling. Pickett jumped from Newt’s shoulder and sat next to his head on the pillow. 

Newt stared at the dangling trinkets that hung from the ceiling, thinking deeply as his eyes grew heavy and his vision blurred. What adventures await in Italy, and why did Dumbledore seem so adamant on sending him there? 


End file.
